Several minutes passed while the men busily conjectured and theorized. Then, from out of the shadows, there appeared a number of dusky patches so blended and lost in the surrounding darkness that only the sharpest eyes could have detected the forms of horses and riders.
“Stanford,” commanded Sergeant Erskine, “go back to the mess room, get a lantern and hurry down to the gate. Those chaps are going to miss it by more than a few yards; and we won’t ask ’em to hurdle over the fence.”
“If Stanford isn’t quick they may ride into it and bump their noses,” said Cole, pleasantly.
Stanford was quick, however. He almost immediately returned with a lighted lantern, which sent curious streaks and dashes of yellow rays darting in all directions, then, followed by Trooper Farr, walked rapidly toward the gate.
Sergeant Erskine and the others waited and watched with the keenest interest.
Suddenly they heard a loud hail from the distance and an answering salutation from Stanford.
It was quite the most unusual event which had happened at the post for several months; and those standing close to the barracks experienced a feeling of satisfaction when they heard the gate beginning to creak.
And now from the direction of the swinging lantern came the sound of clear, lusty voices, with the heavier tones of Stanford and Farr joining in.
It soon became evident from bits of conversation which were carried crisply over the air that the visitors had not stumbled accidentally upon police headquarters. Even Sergeant Erskine, whose stern exterior seldom reflected emotion of any sort, felt a rather curious thrill when he heard Jed Warren’s name pronounced by various voices.
“Ah, Banes, I reckon we’re going to have some news from him after all,” he remarked.